The Tragic Kingdom
by wildcard47
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Narcissa Black wasn’t prepared to grow up. She wasn’t prepared to encounter Lucius Malfoy or to change at all, really. As her perfectly constructed world slowly falls to pieces, Narcissa draws on courage from unexpected sources.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello, all! This is my first Narcissa centric piece. So far, I am absolutely fascinated with her character and with the Black family in general; just putting up these chapters makes me pleased as punch. As this promises to be a long endeavor, I'll try to make my updates as regular as humanly possible. Happy reading!**

It is Christmas, and winter's chill has firmly entrenched itself throughout London. Nowhere is this felt more than in number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Somehow, this winter is achingly worse than the last; bringing with it the type of cold that buries itself into one's bones. Even magic is unable to ward it away entirely. The large, ornate windows in the drawing room have never been so blurry with frost; the sounds of multiple roaring fires echo throughout the house until they seem to overlap, as if Grimmauld were a miniature Ministry of Magic. Only after nightfall, when the house grows silent, is the whisper of thickly falling snow finally heard.

This particular afternoon, the Black family is gathered together to formally celebrate the holiday. Older relatives sit in the kitchen, idly picking at the remains of a sumptuous dinner. The noise of clinking silverware and animated conversation follow ten-year-old Narcissa Black upstairs as she dashes towards the drawing room.

"C'mon, we're starting Catch the Muggle!" she shrieks at her younger cousins, who are playing Exploding Snap – a gift from Uncle Alphard -- in the middle of the hallway. Five year-old Sirius, who loves 'Catch the Muggle' even more than his new cards, follows immediately, whooping as he runs; little Regulus toddles awkwardly behind.

She finds her older sisters already inside, and hopes desperately that they won't make her be the Muggle. From the frowns on their faces, Narcissa shouldn't worry; neither one looks very excited about this.

Bella speaks first. "Catch the Muggle, _again_?" She sounds frustrated, but she's been short-tempered ever since turning fourteen; this is nothing new. Narcissa wonders if she's ever going to be in a good mood this Christmas.

"We played it earlier, remember?" Bella snipes. "Do something different."

Dromeda huffs in agreement. "Honestly. I don't even like this game."

"Come on!" Narcissa whines, impatient for everyone to play. Her sisters have to join in; otherwise the little kids won't play by the rules. "Bella, you always love it when you win! I thought you liked playing games against Muggles? Dromeda says you do, at school." She doesn't mention anything about the rest of the story; how a younger girl was nearly sent to the hospital wing because of Bella's games, or how Dromeda told her she feels sick just thinking about that day.

Her eldest sister sighs. "Cissy, that's different. This is just stupid. I don't like playing as much as I used to."

Narcissa stamps her foot and scowls. "But you have to! Please?"

Bella rolls her eyes, ignoring her sister's whines. "Merlin, you're so dramatic."

"C'mon," Dromeda fake-whispers in Bella's direction. "You can't make me do this by myself. Humor them, please?"

Bella pretends to consider this, but they all know she'll do whatever she pleases. "Fine," she says flatly, sweeping a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. "It's not like there's anything else to do around here."

Narcissa grins and claps her hands. "Right, then you get to be the leader since you're the oldest; you know more spells. Dromeda…" she turns to her middle sister and puts on a thoughtful look. "You, me, and Sirius will be the catchers. Regulus will have to be the Muggle."

"I don' wanna be the Muggle!" Regulus pipes up in protest. Sirius pushes his brother's shoulder in response, hissing, "Get over there, you git!"

A pouting Regulus reluctantly takes his place in the center of the room. "Do I hafta sing the song, too?" he wheedles.

"No, dear," Dromeda reminds him, "That's our part." She nods to Narcissa, who promptly sings:

"_Muggle in the middle, center of a riddle, if catchers aren't careful they'll get sent to hospital--"_

"—Go!!" shouts Sirius, springing into action.

"But I haven't finished singing yet!" Narcissa complains, outraged. Everyone knows you have to finish singing to set the spells in place. During the game, her father once explained, the special magic in the song makes each jinx work like a Shield Charm. Spells hover in the air, invisible, until the game is either finished and each hex has been found, or an adult with stronger magic comes along and casts a _Finite_. She hopes that the game will still go well, even without all of the song's special magic.

As promised, Bella takes up her place as the leader, idly casting jinxes outward from where Regulus stands; these are all meant for the catchers to avoid. Dromeda is poised near the windows; she creeps towards the fireplace, careful of every step. On the same side of the room, Sirius is several paces ahead, bouncing from foot to foot like a rabbit as if this speedy movement will protect him from any and all obstacles.

Narcissa, her back to the enormous family tapestry, has taken six tentative steps from her place against the wall. She carefully searches the room for some hint of where to move next. Just as she is about to act, she hears Sirius yelp and stumble backwards into a glass cabinet, about a meter from the hearth. A pattern of delicate red spiderwebs tangle above the spot where he's just stepped; he's hit one of the bigger spells.

Dromeda raises her eyebrows at the pattern. "Looks nasty. You all right, Sirius?"

Sirius bites his lip and looks as if he'll burst into tears. "It burns!"

"Come off it," Bella says from the corner, "It can't be that bad."

"Yeah, you big baby," Narcissa chimes in. "Reggie accidentally hit a big one this morning and he didn't even yell or anything."

Sirius makes an angry noise and rubs tear-filled eyes on the sleeve of his jumper. "You don't know anything, Cissy! Shut up!"

Dromeda moves closer and kneels by Sirius's side; she's good with these sorts of things. "All right, cousin. Show me where it hurts?"

He points towards the left side of his stomach. "Here," Dromeda notes his answer and briskly lifts up the jumper to reveal a large red welt, probably formed when he first touched the spell field.

"No wonder it's painful," she says quietly. Raising her gaze, Dromeda casts a curious look at Bella. "What spell is this?"

"Stinging Hex, I think," Bella replies coolly.

Narcissa frowns. They're only supposed to use mild jinxes during the game. Annoying spells, like Jelly-Legs or the Leg-Locker Curse. Why would Bella use a Stinging Hex?

Apparently, Dromeda wonders the same thing. "Why'd you cast that?" Her voice is tinged with suspicion.

"Lighten up," Bella draws out her words in a long-suffering tone. "I just wanted to make the game more interesting. It's not even a painful spell! Not like I cast anything Dark."

"Yeah, well," Dromeda retorts, "lucky you can't cast Dark spells. This is a kids' game. Somebody could get--" she hastily amended herself, "– _has_ got hurt!"

"Oh, he's just exaggerating," Bella returns harshly. Something cold flashes in her stare. "Little Sirius just wants attention from the big kids, isn't that right?"

"No, I don't!" Sirius cries. "You hurt me!"

Still frozen in the middle of Bella's obstacles, Regulus hears the cries of his older brother and starts to whimper. Narcissa wishes he wouldn't. One crying kid is awful enough.

Dromeda casts a _Finite _so that Regulus is no longer trapped. She leans towards Sirius and whispers something in his ear – Narcissa doesn't know what. Seconds later, he's grabbing Reggie's hand and they're both running downstairs. She guesses he was sent to find Aunt Walburga – or rather, some other grownup – and tell them what happened. His mother won't treat the appearance of two sniffling children too kindly, though.

Watching the two scurry away, Bella turns to Dromeda and gives a disgusted sigh. "You're being too soft with him, Dromeda. Sirius can't just cry and run to his mother every time he gets hurt. He has to learn to be tough! You're not helping him."

"He's _five_, Bella! He's not going to understand any of that rubbish. I mean, what else was I supposed to do?" Andromeda hisses, casting a sideways glance at Cissy.

Cissy doesn't even understand what's going on anymore. Her sisters fight all the time over clothes and books and toys, but this feels completely different. Why is Bella acting so strangely?

"You're _supposed_ to set a good example, idiot!" Bella retorts. "Sirius is never going to learn how to be a proper Black if you keep coddling him."

"Yeah, well, maybe he shouldn't learn." Dromeda mutters. "Being a Black's not so great."

Bellatrix stares hard at Dromeda, ready to respond, and then looks sideways, meeting Narcissa's eyes. It feels like they're seeing each other for the first time.

"Cissy, get out," she spits. "Now."

Narcissa knows better than to argue. As she reluctantly flees down the long hallway, she hears someone raise their voice in the kitchen. Sounds like Aunt Walburga, she thinks, and grimaces. She wonders if Bella is going to be punished for ruining the game. She wonders if they're ever going to finish playing at all. She wonders why Bella would ever want to hurt Sirius.

She's never had so many questions in her life.


	2. Jilted

Narcissa Black knows too well when Bellatrix is toying with someone.

She still remembers the game of 'Catch the Muggle' they played five Christmases ago. That particular game was the first time Narcissa had been afraid of her sister. There was a spark within Bella's steely eyes which Narcissa has tried to dissect ever since.

It reminds her of a predator's stare, like those of the ugly creatures pictured in her Defense textbooks. A gaze meant to track movements and actions; it betrays no real emotion. It lets lesser people glean what they will from an expression, and views others as underlings at best, as people unworthy of a civil word. At worst, it views them as prey. Narcissa has recognized that from Bella's now-infamous sessions of Muggle-baiting at Hogwarts. She sees it in the way Bella has started to talk about a particular man; she's found herself yet another git with a title. When this glint enters Bella's eyes, Narcissa can no longer recognize the sister she grew up idolizing.

Standing in the doorway to the drawing room – more accurately, peering out from a crouched position by the doorframe -- Narcissa spies that look on her sister's face again as she talks with Lucius Malfoy.

The Malfoys have become somewhat of a fixture around the house, this summer. Narcissa's parents – her father especially - have started to insist Bella needs to secure a husband. They've invited Lucius and his father over almost every week to have dinner and discuss terms of a possible engagement. Despite the fact that her sister is two years out of Hogwarts and hasn't shown a bit of interest in marriage, they're convinced that presenting her with a Malfoy will immediately change her mind on the subject. Not to mention, Bella is the eldest; she has to get married for Dromeda to even be considered as a prospective bride.

Lucius apparently fits the bill of 'husband' perfectly. Though he's in Dromeda's class in Hogwarts, he's just turned seventeen – perfectly legal, as everyone pointedly reminds Bella. Pairing his legality with the enormous size of his trust fund, Malfoy's one of the most sought-after single men in pureblood society. Narcissa privately thinks that Malfoy is more of a spoiled debutante than anything, but, as her mother says, the Blacks can't afford to be choosy. Since their side of the family has no sons– more specifically, no male heir – the girls are strongly encouraged to accept any offer they're given by a pure-blood with a good reputation.

Nothing Mother and Father say makes a difference to Bella, though. She already has a gaggle of men flocking after her at every turn. A combination of charm and coy sexuality in her mannerisms ensure she's never lost for male company. And who needs a husband when you can command so much attention just by existing?

Narcissa gives a silent huff; no one deserves that much attention, especially Bellatrix. She likes none of her suitors and seems to take real pleasure in playing each one like a six-stringed lute, later discarding them in a uniquely special and humiliating way.

Which, frankly, is exactly why Narcissa wanted to spy on them tonight. This awkward arrangement with Malfoy has already become more serious than any of her sister's other relationships. Considering none of this closeness was by Bella's choice, Narcissa thinks it's only a matter of time before Lucius finds himself tossed by the wayside. Maybe even literally, if Narcissa is very lucky. She could use the entertainment.

Bella and Lucius have been sitting side-by-side on the couch for some time, deep in conversation, Malfoy trying to edge closer by the minute. True to her charms, Bellatrix is lounging prettily on one armrest, her back supported by cushions. The predator is slowly reeling in her prey – she's even let him hold her wand, for Merlin's sake, how obvious is that?Narcissa rolls her eyes. _Only an idiot would think this encounter is going well._

Malfoy hasn't detected anything amiss. "Bellatrix," he is murmuring now, "Bella, I want you –I want you so badly." One of his hands is laying flat against her collarbone, fiddling idly with the clasp of her cloak, the other snakes around to rest at the small of her back.

Her sister simply smirks, settling further into the cushions, pale moonlight reflecting in her heavily-lidded eyes. "Oh?"

Malfoy moves closer, attempting to make his movements fluid and suave. All he really succeeds in doing, Narcissa thinks, is looking desperate.

"Bellatrix," the sound is part whisper, part hiss. "Give me what I want."

Her sister fixes him with an arch, unaffected look, though he is centimeters away. Merlin knows Narcissa would not be so composed if she were in Bella's place. Even sitting in the corner, she's personally torn between laughing loudly and throwing herself at the man. _Self-absorbed he may be, but he's still a _man_, and a decent-looking one at that. _Safely hidden, she feels the beginnings of a blush creep into her cheeks and is embarrassed by it.

"Then give me my wand." Bella replies simply. Narcissa knows it is not a request.

"And if I don't?" Malfoy breathes. His mouth hovers at Bella's ear, then moves to plant kisses down the sinuous length of her neck. Bella arches her back, as if welcoming his caress; Lucius seizes the opportunity presented by her supposed eagerness.

Only Narcissa sees the angry, white-knuckled clench of her sister's right fist. She waits.

Bella takes three more seconds before she strikes Malfoy squarely between the temple and jaw. The force of it throws him unceremoniously from her lap onto the hardwood floor. The violent, echoing timbre of bone against bone startles Narcissa so much that she gasps aloud, yet Lucius's loud cry of pain has somehow masked her slip. She remains frozen, undiscovered; listening intently with her left hand now clamped firmly over her mouth.

Bella has already retrieved her wand from the tumble. She's standing, laughing airily as she looks down at the disheveled man.

"You dirty Squib," she sneers. This is her special and particular way of communicating her unadulterated loathing towards Lucius, by denying him even as a temporary lover. In Narcissa's mind – this is where the wand comes in, she's fairly sure – Bella is trying to prove her superiority against him: magically, physically and mentally. _As of right now, it's definitely working._

Lucius picks himself up, rubbing his jaw, his expression tight and furious. As a sickly purple bruise blossoms across his cheekbone, Narcissa thinks that the strike would have been better aimed had he not been in such close contact. He was practically on top of Bella at the time and her aim must have been tricky to perfect. _Bella will be angry that she didn't black his eye._

Watching him carefully, it's obvious Lucius is more than physically hurt. Who wouldn't be? Narcissa wonders if Bellatrix realizes what she's done to this man by jilting him, by wounding his pride. His ego could have been taken down a notch, really, but this cold refusal is by far the worst Narcissa has known. He's not going to accept that kind of slight very lightly.

She wonders why he would even want Bella in _that way_ – Narcissa's too embarrassed to say the actual words -- to begin with, knowing that she could never want him back. Bella is too passionate, too proud, to be vulnerable with a lover. Couldn't anyone else _see_ this?

_I'd never treat him like Bella has – not ever_, she thinks suddenly, but shoves the thought from her mind. She doesn't want men fawning and kneeling and begging over her, especially not a man like Malfoy. She hates that type of attention.

Returning her attention to Lucius, it's obvious to Narcissa that he wants to retaliate against Bella's unfair blow. His grey eyes are stormy with the effort of control.

"Bitch," he eventually spits. Not much of a retort, but what could he do, Narcissa wonders, besides insult her? It wasn't as if he could hit her back.

With that poor comeback out of the way, Malfoy sweeps out of the room, attempting to restore what little dignity he has left with the gesture. As he leaves, Narcissa flattens herself against the wall, feigning invisibility.

Her feint is interrupted by the soft thud of footsteps directly at her back. Bellatrix is leaning against the doorframe where Narcissa crouches, a bemused expression gracing her sharp features.

"Well, little sister," Bellatrix snorts, as if this is all one great joke, "I hope you've learned something from this."

"Er, I think so," Narcissa replies shakily, staring up at her sister. She hopes Bellatrix isn't going to punch her, too. She bruises easily.

"Don't ever spy on me again." Bella says; all traces of amusement gone. The _or else _which normally follows the order is strictly implied. It's a nicety she doesn't normally grant in threats.

Narcissa nods her assent, and a moment later, her sister has Disapparated.


	3. Visiting Diagon

**A/N: Hello, all. I am so sorry about the update delay! I promise I haven't abandoned this story -- I had a fairly rough semester in the fall in addition to some wicked writers' block on this chapter. I couldn't pin down the end conversation and it was driving me nuts. Anyway, I hope some of you are still reading. Enjoy!**

***Also, to clear up possible confusion, a stone = roughly 14 pounds. When Andromeda asks Narcissa how much she weighs, the figures she mentions range from 112-126 pounds. Just so you know.**

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Two weeks have passed since Bellatrix's appalling rejection of Lucius. While strictly reprimanded by Mother and Father in private, she's received no other lasting punishment and has smirked openly about the incident ever since. Narcissa thinks the lack of discipline has made her sister even more insufferable than usual.

Father, meanwhile, has done his best to ensure that the real truth about her behavior remains a secret from the rest of the Pureblood families. To his credit, no one has seen or heard anything unusual from the Malfoys ever since that night.

Narcissa isn't disappointed by their absence. She's spent the fortnight busying herself in a flurry of activity; most of it dealing with the impending arrival of term. In a surprising show of trust, Narcissa's parents have allowed her and Andromeda to shop completely unaccompanied in Diagon Alley this year. Cygnus withdrew the appropriate amount of Galleons from Gringotts, per usual, but the spending of that money has fallen entirely on their shoulders.

Giving them so much leeway may have been a hasty decision. Narcissa's already been twice this week. The first trip was spent buying requisite supplies, getting fitted for new robes, etc. The second dealt with purchasing what she'd forgotten – mainly Potions ingredients – and picking up a few trinkets on the sly. Her current trip, number three, is purely for fun.

Newly armed with two large peacock-feather quills, Narcissa clutches her purchases in one hand as she and her sister walk away from Scribbulus.

"Right. Where to go next?" Andromeda asks, scanning the teeming storefronts with an expression of irritation. Narcissa rolls her eyes at the look; she knows her sister well enough to understand why she's here, and it's not to shop. Everyone in the family – even the near-deaf portrait of Great-Auntie Prewett, hanging on the third floor -- overheard Dromeda and Mother's morning row.

Loud rows between the two have occurred fairly often since the beginning of last year. The fight always starts with something as innocent as Dromeda not getting the Head Girl badge (this year's current gripe), and ends with her sister screaming about the idiocy of blindly following Black traditions. In return, Mother yells a worn lecture about upholding familial honor and magical pride. The rest of the argument is always cut off by a well-timed Silencing Charm.

Narcissa sighs heavily, trying to get rid of the recollection. Even if Dromeda is only here to avoid being inside the house, it's nice to spend a bit of time together. Merlin knows Narcissa never sees her sister during the school year; she's always studying with the Ravenclaws or performing tasks with the prefects.

Determined for today to go smoothly, she considers Andromeda's query as they walk. "I was thinking we could stop inside---"

Before Narcissa can finish her sentence, they are nearly bowled over by three boys exiting "Magical Milton's Musical Mysteries", the most recent addition to Diagon. Hogwarts rumor has it that Milton, whoever he may be, apparently sells Muggle records as well as the newest Wizard releases. Narcissa doesn't know why anyone would want to buy a Muggle record, but apparently he hasn't hurt for business.

She steadies herself on the pavement, voice icy. "Excuse me," she snaps, waiting for an apology.

One of the boys, who looks to be about Andromeda's age, turns at the sound. "Oh! Sorry about that," he gasps, "We were just…" His voice trails off as he sees who he's addressing. "Wait, you're….Narcissa, right?" He snaps his fingers as if trying to recall a difficult incantation. "Narcissa Black?"

"Yes," she says, more than a little suspicious as she attempts to place him. "And you are?"

"Ted. Ted Tonks. Pleased to meet you." He holds out a hand expectantly.

Narcissa doesn't take it. She faintly remembers him now, from school, and is fairly sure he's a Hufflepuff. But before she can formulate a response, Andromeda swoops in, catching the boy's hand in a firm grip.

"Look, Ted?" she asks dispassionately. "I apologize for Narcissa's appalling lack of manners." Narcissa shoots him a glare which suggests she has no part in this apology.

"But," Andromeda continues, "it's not without reason. We aren't exactly social butterflies. As my mother says, the Blacks have _standards_ and _procedures_. Talking in the street with strangers" – she surveys the loudly colorful storefront with a half-grimace, half-smirk – "isn't one of them. So don't be too friendly."

Narcissa is annoyed when Ted grins, seemingly unfazed by the speech. No matter how amusing Dromeda's poor attempts at sarcasm are, he should at least pretend to take her words seriously.

"Blunt honesty," he replies instead, his grin widening as he meets Andromeda's gaze. "I like it. Thanks for the advance warning, I suppose?"

Andromeda rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say, Ted. See you in a few days." She pulls Narcissa forcefully by the arm, steering back past Scrivenshaft's as the boys resume their discussion. Faint snatches of their conversation float towards Narcissa as she retreats:

"No, I'm telling you, the Stones have got to be wizards. How else do you explain Keith Richards?"

"Yeah, he's a Squib, at the very least—"

"Nah, I'd pin my money on Jagger -- bad Engorgement Charm--"

Being dragged by the hand makes Narcissa feel like a troublesome little girl. Visibly embarrassed, she pulls free of Andromeda's strong grasp before speaking.

"How do you know that boy?" she asks, straightening her cloak.

Andromeda shrugs. "I don't actually know him, to be honest. He's a Hufflepuff from my year; a prefect, maybe. Might even be Head Boy, now that I think about it?"

Narcissa is aghast. "_He's_ the new Head Boy!? I thought it would be Lucius —or one of the Ravenclaws, at least!" She scoffs in disapproval. Everyone knows Hufflepuffs would rather be _best friends_ with each student rather than discipline them appropriately.

Andromeda shrugs again. "I could be wrong. Anyway, if he's a prefect, I should prepare to see a lot more of him."

"Well, I didn't like him," Narcissa snits. "He seemed…odd."

"Just 'cause he was in the record shop?" Her sister laughs. "You're becoming quite the snob."

Narcissa scowls like a child. "I am not."

"Don't deny it," Andromeda counters. "You are. Merlin, wouldn't Mother be proud to see it." She shakes her head in pretend resignation.

Narcissa doesn't know how to reply to that declaration, so she settles for throwing a significant look towards Florean Fortescue's as they pass. "Want to stop in for a minute?" She knows Andromeda can't resist the temptation of chocolate gelato.

They choose a table in the shade and are picking out ice-cream flavors within twenty seconds of sitting down. After a minute or so of strained silence, the bowls on the table emit a quiet pop and are suddenly filled to the brim with gelato.

Andromeda grins like a Cheshire cat as she reaches for the silverware. "Oh, I love chocolate."

"I'd never know," Narcissa comments dryly. "It only looks like I'm sitting next to a half-starved Kneazle." She takes a delicate bite of vanilla as she talks, not wanting to indulge too much. "You should be careful about that sort of thing, Andromeda."

"Oh, Narcissa, how you wound me," Dromeda deadpans, crunching vigorously on a large chocolate chip.

"No, I'm serious." Narcissa says. "Mother keeps saying we all have to watch what we eat so we maintain a good weight. If we don't keep a nice figure it'll make things difficult down the road…finding a husband and such..."

Dromeda's features cloud with disapproval. "Mother told you that, specifically?"

Narcissa shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. "Not in as many words…just said I looked a bit more stout than usual…but she was just trying to help. You know how much the bigger girls are teased at school. She doesn't want us to be the butt of everyone's jokes." _The Slytherin boys still haven't stopped sniping at Lexia Nott, though she's got so much slimmer since last year. _And_ she's even got a boyfriend now…_

"What jokes?" Andromeda growls. "Narcissa, you weigh, what, eight or nine stone?"*****

Horrified, Narcissa hushes her sister. "Only eight and a quarter, thank you." she whispers primly. "Mother says it'd be best if I got down to seven and a half before the year is out."

"Are you serious?" Dromeda snaps, gesturing so violently she drops her spoon. It clatters loudly and lands near the table's edge. "She has no right to dictate how much you weigh."

"Wait," Narcissa says quickly, not wanting to be the impetus of another fight, "it's all right. Don't get upset. If getting thinner makes Mother a little happier, then I can live with it."

"Narcissa, you shouldn't have to starve yourself to make her happy!"

Narcissa shoots her sister a swift warning look, the same one her mother often wears. It plainly reads: We're in_ public. _Stop embarrassing me.

She tries to change the subject, but Andromeda is already too worked up. "You refused, right? Please tell me you stood up to her."

Narcissa avoids answering the question. "I don't want you and Mother to find anything else to fight over. And I know if she saw you eating chocolate ice-cream like this she'd probably go into fits. So just be careful around her."

Her sister's expression is stormy, but when Dromeda speaks again, her voice is kind. "Don't worry about me, little sister; I can handle myself."

Narcissa just stares into the bottom of her ice-cream dish, now filling with puddles of melted vanilla. She can't help worrying about Andromeda. Andromeda is so different to her, and difficult to understand because of it.

Andromeda is speaking again. _"—shouldn't let Mother make all of your decisions. Haven't you ever wanted to do something on your own?"_

Dromeda and Bella have always been closer in age and in personality. They are passionate and proud – fierce, even -- while Narcissa is shy and compliant. As a child, Narcissa always existed on the periphery of her family; she hero-worshipped Bella and desperately tried to fit in around Andromeda, which distanced her from both of them.

Even now, the two sisters have wildly different expectations for Narcissa's future. While Bella is content for her youngest sister to uphold the family name, and nothing more, Andromeda is unsatisfied. Just like today, she's always challenging and demanding and pushing.

She wishes she and Dromeda could have a better relationship.

They've found each other harder and harder to understand as they've aged. Dromeda's changed more than anyone since she's been at Hogwarts. And although the sisters are obviously still family, Narcissa fears soon they'll feel like strangers.

"Cissy, are you even listening to me?" Dromeda asks, startling Narcissa back into the present.

"Oh, er, of course," she mumbles in reply, trying to shake off her reluctance. She's so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn't even think to correct the use of her old nickname.

As they move from the table, readying to leave, Andromeda places a hand on her sister's shoulder. Her voice is quiet, and more solemn than Narcissa has ever heard it.

"I want to say something else before we go," Andromeda murmurs.

"Dromeda," Narcissa shakes her head, making a dismissive gesture, "That's not necessary, you just got worked up over a little request—"

Andromeda holds up her other hand. "Please. I know we're very different people. I know sometimes it makes you…unhappy that I go against Mother all the time, but I just—"

"But it doesn't—I don't—"

"Look, Narcissa." Her sister's words have a strange finality to them. "If you've never listened to a word I've said before this, then please listen to me now. You have to fight for your own happiness. Decide what makes you happy, what gives you _joy_, and then act on those things. Don't let Mother or anyone else in our family push you around for the rest of your life. Try to be yourself."

With the strange moment hanging between them, Dromeda gives a small half-smile to her sister before she steps away. "You all right?"

Torn between feeling confused and annoyed at her sister's advice, Narcissa doesn't reply; just walks forward. She didn't need Andromeda's pity or her child-like advice. She hates being told to "be herself". Sometimes, especially in comparison to her sisters, everything about Narcissa's self, and everything that matters to her, feels so puny and inferior that itseems nonexistent. Like she's some sort of brittle, horrible doll – a shell of a person.

She presses her lips into a thin line, trying not to tear up. As hard as Dromeda tries, she will never quite understand her younger sister, not even if Narcissa had a million years to explain the thoughts swirling around in her head.


	4. Traveling

**A/N: Just so you know, the Bill in this story is referring to Arthur's brother Bilius, not the Bill we're currently familiar with. Thought I'd clear that up.**

**As always, thanks for reading. Reviews and con-crit are much appreciated! :)**

* * *

Narcissa idly stares out the window of the Hogwarts Express as the train draws near the Scottish border. Dromeda has spent the last hour patrolling with the other prefects, and out of the few students who stopped by for a quick hello, only one other girl, Violet Rosier, has settled into this compartment for the trip.

Narcissa eyes her neighbor with barely concealed distaste. She's never liked Violet very much – the girl is a fifth year and an absolute idiot – but for some reason, Violet seems to prefer Narcissa's company over that of the girls her own age. Narcissa figures (or rather, desperately hopes) that the friendship will serve some useful purpose in the future. Violet's company is barely tolerable at the best of times, and today it's torturous.

Flipping another page in _Witch Weekly_, Violet lets out a shrill giggle. "Narcissa, have you _seen _what Celestina Warbeck was wearing at her last concert? It's absolutely dreadful!" The girl turns her magazine sideways, as if to verify she isn't seeing things, and wrinkles her nose in horror at the sight. "Ugh, you'd think she'd gone bankrupt!"

Narcissa's right hand twitches above her wand. Give it ten minutes and she'll either fire a series of silencing charms or make a wild attempt at her first Unforgivable. Either way, her sanity is at stake.

"Violet," she says aloud, hatching a plan, "has the old woman with the trolley come around yet?"

The other girl looks at her, obviously puzzled. "I think so. But I thought you didn't eat sweets? Lexia told me you were watching your figure."

"Yes, she's right," Narcissa presses, "but I've suddenly got a bit of a craving for…er …Chocolate Frogs. Chocolate can actually be helpful to a diet plan." She flashes a smile for emphasis, spreading her hands in a gesture that will hopefully convey apology (though she means none) and casual detachment. "Will you be a dear and hunt down the cart for me?"

If Violet cottons on to this charade, Narcissa will never be able to live it down. Slytherins never forget moments of visible weakness. However, Narcissa's more than desperate to have a bit of peace. Especially if it involves being alone.

"Oh, I—"

"—It'll only take a minute or two. Five at most. You don't mind, do you?"

Violet sighs, and Narcissa sees her deflate in resignation. "Well, I suppose I could do with another bag of Bertie Bott's." She sets down her magazine and opens the compartment door, peering both ways before she exits to the left. As soon as she's out of sight, Narcissa closes the door and breathes a sigh of relief. She listens to Violet's retreating footsteps – sounds as if she bumped into someone, ha – and revels in the momentary quiet.

The blissful silence is interrupted seconds later by a series of deafening blasts from next door's compartment. The Express shakes violently with the force of the concussions. Narcissa puts a hand to her forehead and suppresses a hiss of disgust. Someone – and she'd place hard money on the Prewett twins or a couple of stupid first years – must have planned a fairly elaborate first prank. She sniffs the air several times, and can't smell anything amiss; thank Merlin, no Dungbombs.

Her solitude is interrupted again as the compartment door is hastily thrown open. Frustrated, Narcissa snaps to attention, ready to scold Violet for being so disruptive: "What on earth are you doing–?"

Instead, she finds herself face to face with Lucius Malfoy. He's poised awkwardly in the doorway, wand raised – obviously seeking the source of the disruption.

"Narcissa!" He tries to relax his posture by leaning against the doorway but succeeds in only looking more uncomfortable. "I didn't expect to find you....I, ah, was just searching for the noise."

"Oh!" she says. "Next door, I believe." Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She's painfully aware of his presence and the last time she saw him and the fact that they have never, out of all the numerous times he's visited her family, been left alone together, not even for the course of a conversation. She twists her hands in her lap in a familiar gesture of anxiety, willing herself to say something valuable, or, at the very least, coherent.

When she forces herself to speak again, her words come out all wrong. "So, you're on prefect patrol, I see?" She hates herself for saying something so mind-numbingly obvious.

"Unfortunately," he replies, his tone noncommittal. Probably indicating boredom. "I must say I wasn't expecting it to be quite so lively."

Narcissa nods in an attitude of forced calm. She doesn't understand her sudden anxiety and tries to crush it with an attempt at humor. "If the bedlam on the platform was any indication, I'd say you prefects have got quite the year ahead."

The corner of Lucius's mouth quirks in a crooked smile. "And to think I imagined an uneventful seventh year."

Narcissa grants the remark a perfunctory chuckle, trying to keep up the flow of conversation. "Uneventful? Hogwarts? That's probably impossible." She punctuates this comment with a small, amused snort and then wants to die of embarrassment. Mother always tells her it's unladylike to laugh that way.

He gives a short laugh. "Indeed."

For a few seconds, the expression on Lucius's face is imperceptible. Giving it her best guess, she'd class it somewhere between awkward and…appraising? Narcissa can't imagine what triggered the change, unless he's dying to get away from her or is suddenly having Bellatrix flashbacks. She privately hopes the latter is not the case; there'd be nothing more humiliating than being compared to her oldest sister. Especially in a moment where she's trying to give a good impression.

All too suddenly, the strange look is smoothed over by the poised "society" gaze she's seen him wear throughout the summer. The change in his manner is so finite, and so quick, that Narcissa believes she must have been imagining things earlier.

"Narcissa," he begins quietly, "I wonder if you'd consider—"

"Oy! Malfoy!" comes a shout from the hallway. "Stop chatting Black up and give us a hand here!"

He rolls his eyes -- the irritation at being shouted at visible for the briefest of moments -- before hardening his expression and stepping out of the compartment. Narcissa moves into the space he's vacated within the doorway. Over his shoulder, she spies Ted Tonks and one of the elder Weasley boys, holding onto the robes of two soot-covered, scowling young boys – the pranksters.

One of them, dressed in smart robes, is the very picture of cocky, all the way from his ridiculous hair to his trainers. The other boy, a stringy kid dressed in shabby robes, wears a sneer of bitter derision. They're both flailing about in a sad attempt to escape.

Lucius scoffs at the sight. "I see you're still unable to handle troublesome students, Tonks, even if they are just children."

Ted's expression conveys pure annoyance. "Yeah, and you've been a real help, dude." He gestures in the direction of her compartment. "I'm sure Narcissa is beyond impressed." She scowls at his casual use of her name, so familiar! As if he knows her!

Next to Ted, Weasley turns a laugh into a hasty cough.

Lucius narrows his eyes and Narcissa waits for his temper to flare. "Nice to see you can still laugh, Weasley," he drawls. "I heard your parents went absolutely broke over the summer, isn't that right? Are they enjoying that one-room hovel of a house?"

Weasley flushes red with embarrassment, a muscle working in his jaw. If it weren't for the presence of the first years, Narcissa thinks, this fight would already have come to blows. That family has always been sensitive about being poor. Narcissa would feel sorry for them if they didn't just keep popping out more children; the misfortune was their own fault, really.

"Look, Malfoy," Ted grits his teeth, and every syllable is forced, "If you're going to act like a pompous ass, then go somewhere else. Bill and I will deal with this."

"Don't speak to me that way, Tonks, or you will regret it—"

Just as Ted steps closer to Lucius, Narcissa hears her sister's voice ring clearly over the melee, though she can't see past the coat rack. "—Oh, come on, Lucius! Ted's just taking the mickey. Stop being an idiot!"

"Andromeda, your opinion is unwelcome—"

"Thanks, Andromeda, but I really don't need your help—"

Weasley finally steps in, diffusing the situation. "All right! Much as I'd like to see Malfoy get the stuffing knocked out of him—"

Lucius throws the redheaded boy a baleful glare, but Weasley's voice stays firm. "—we need to sort this out before the train stops. Malfoy, send an owl to Dumbledore, let the school know about the incident. There should be one or two school birds nesting in the front car."

"I'm not taking orders from you," Lucius snarls.

"Look, I'm head boy, yeah? You don't have a choice." Narcissa tucks away that piece of information. "It's either owl or outright discipline, Malfoy. I figured you'd want the owl."

"Fine," Lucius growls, letting his eyes linger angrily on everyone involved before he sweeps away.

"Ted," Weasley continues, "I'll need your help here. Andromeda, if you'll patrol the rear cars?" Ted nods an affirmative, and Dromeda's footsteps retreat down the hallway.

"You _cretins_," one first year suddenly drawls, surprising them all, "must be the most abominable prefects I've ever seen."

The boy next to him rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Ugh, who talks like that? Stop being such a git, Snivellus…"

"Stop calling me that, you tosser!"

As Narcissa retreats back into her compartment, Weasley doles out proper punishment to the two boys, now fighting among themselves once again.

Just as Narcissa's ready to be alone for the rest of the journey, Violet enters, her arms filled with wrapped sweets. "Ooh, it took me ages to find the trolley, Narcissa! And then I stopped to talk to Janet and to Gemma, who told me about the most interesting things about her ex-boyfriend! But I got you the Licorice Wands you asked for, not to worry." With that, she sets down a generous pile of sweets on the seat next to Narcissa.

Narcissa despises licorice. But, to keep up appearances, she mumbles her thanks and turns back to the window. She glimpses the faintest outline of Hogwarts in the distance, an imperious silhouette, and feels a flash of apprehension in her stomach. Her sixth year is finally beginning.

It's none too soon, she thinks. She's been so bored at home.


	5. Changes

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reading. You all are fantastic! I hope you're enjoying the fic -- and remember, reviews are very much appreciated! ;)**

**Oh, and, P.S., I offer cool points to anyone besides my beta who is able to catch the non-Merlin Arthurian reference.**

* * *

As McGonagall shepherds the first years into the Great Hall, Narcissa's beginning to feel excited. Though she knows few of the first-years personally, there are usually a few distant relatives or someone's younger sibling to look for during each Sorting ceremony. She'll be watching closely for her younger cousin Sirius.

Aunt Walburga hasn't brought the boys around to the house in at least two years; he must have grown loads since the last time she saw him. Sirius will be put into Slytherin, she assumes – it's not like he could get Ravenclaw, he isn't that clever – but it will be interesting to see how long the Hat takes to decide.

After a few minutes of stern lecture, McGonagall produces the Hat. Narcissa stifles a laugh at the way the children eye it nervously. When it was her turn to be Sorted, did she look so ill at ease? Her first year seems so distant, now.

After a few seconds of silence, the Hat stirs, singing loudly:

_A thousand years or more ago_

_when Hogwarts first began_

_Four wizards joined in common goal,_

_to teach, their task at hand._

_Brave Gryffindor, he valued might,_

_Quick Ravenclaw, her ken,_

_True loyalty, prized Hufflepuff,_

_Great cunning, Slytherin._

_Each founder shaped their Houses,_

_took those who would succeed,_

_And in years past, each house produced_

_skilled mages for an hour of need._

_And although my cherished duty lies_

_in quartering each year,_

_I must enlighten all of you –_

_It's division we must fear._

_Yes! Division, strife, and discord_

_nearly tore our school apart._

_Each wizard here must know, lest_

_he is fooled by this same art._

_In this dark hour, friends and foes,_

_Unite within these walls!_

_Be on your guard, be vigilant! For_

_a nameless enemy calls._

_We must unite inside her__  
or we'll crumble from within  
I have told you, I have warned you...  
let the Sorting now begin. *****_

Silence reigns in the Great Hall, finally broken by whispers of furious chatter amongst each table. To Narcissa's left, Andromeda whistles. "Hat's a bit of a downer this year, yeah?"

Narcissa shrugs, attempting nonchalance. "Seems more theatrical than anything,"

"I don't know," Andromeda mutters. "Look at the professors. If it's theatrics, I don't think the Hat warned them,"

Flicking her gaze to the right, Narcissa studies the High Table. Much as she hates to admit it, Andromeda's theory doesn't seem entirely ridiculous. Expressions range from knowing (Dumbledore, smug as always) to solemn (the goblin) to downright nervous (Slughorn, though he's a bit on the over-reactive side, so that may mean nothing.)

"Hm," Narcissa snorts derisively instead of giving Dromeda the satisfaction of being correct. "Well, I think the Hat's just trying to trick us. It probably just wants us to work nicely with the Gryffindors or something,"

Andromeda shakes her head, as if disappointed. "You can be so clueless sometimes, Narcissa."

Narcissa stares at her sister. "What's the matter with you?" she hisses.

Meanwhile, McGonagall is wasting no time: "Abbott, Craig!"

"It's nothing," Andromeda mumbles, clearly out of sorts. "Never mind."

The boy hops onto the stool, clearly nervous, gritting his teeth in concentration as he places the hat on his head. The brim balances on the bridge of his nose for a moment before yelling out:

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hufflepuff table cheers warmly for their newest student. Abbott walks over and takes a place at the end, relief clear on his face.

"Oh, come on," Narcissa insists. "You practically bit my head off over a stupid remark!"

"I said it's nothing," Andromeda hisses back after the applause has died down. "Let's watch for Sirius," and turns back to the ceremony. Narcissa rolls her eyes. _So she's attempting to ignore me. Subtle._

"Arimathea, Joseph!"

The Hat barely touches little Joseph's head before screaming "RAVENCLAW!" – sending the table beside theirs into the appropriate hysterics.

Someone called "Avery" – Narcissa doesn't catch his first name – is the first Slytherin of the night, followed immediately by "Bertram, Aubrey!" as the second. Narcissa stops clapping just in time to hear McGonagall say, "Black, Sirius!"

"Look, there he is!" Andromeda points to their athletic-looking cousin as he crosses the room and sits down to be Sorted.

"His hair's grown out," Narcissa notes in a whisper.

Dromeda laughs. "I'm surprised Aunt Walburga hasn't cut it off. He's taller, too."

"Yeah," Narcissa's voice is wistful.

A full minute passes. Narcissa holds her breath and waits to welcome her cousin into Slytherin, when suddenly the Hat shouts: "GRYFFINDOR!"

A collective hush falls over the Hall for a moment. Next, everything's happening at once; the Gryffindors are screaming in delight, Sirius is making his way over to their table, grinning, getting clapped on the back by one of the Weasleys; the rest of the student body, meanwhile, eyes the Slytherin table with suspicious stares.

"I don't understand," gasps Narcissa, shocked, "he's supposed to be with us!"

"How does a _Black_ get into another House?" Andromeda grits out, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Merlin knows….I thought…"

"That's trouble for you," Violet mumbles to Lysandra Yaxley, two seats down –

"— And a sodding Gryffindor, too," someone else whispers, Narcissa is sure it's Macnair – the entire Slytherin table buzzes with conversation, every bit of it about the Blacks.

Dumbledore holds up his hand for silence and the Slytherins, though resentful, quiet immediately. Narcissa's still so distracted by this awful turn of events that she misses the sorting of C-E almost entirely.

"Evans, Lily!" is the name which snaps her out of her reverie.

A petite girl steps briskly forward from the crowd, tossing back her ginger hair before placing the Hat firmly on her head.

"What a little snot!" Violet whispers to no one in particular, and for once, Narcissa agrees. None of the Slytherins are surprised to see Evans join the Gryffindor table.

Narcissa starts to make a snide comment to her sister, but notes the grim line of Dromeda's mouth and thinks better of it. Who knew she would be so crushed by Sirius' assignment? Narcissa certainly didn't think her sister wanted him around that much.

She floats in and out of focus during the rest of the ceremony, watching as "Lupin, Remus!" gets Gryffindor and as "Parkinson, Elisa" joins the end of the Slytherin table.

"Pettigrew, Peter" – a mousy-looking thing – is inexplicably sorted to Gryffindor (she can hear Lucius Malfoy laughing, "Should have been Hufflepuff!") and "Potter, James," one of the troublemakers from the train, immediately follows Pettigrew to the same House.

It isn't until "Snape, Severus!" that another Slytherin is welcomed into the fold, though Narcissa knows just by looking at his greasy hair and giant nose that the older boys will tease him mercilessly instead of being "welcoming".

When "Zabini, Etienne!" joins the Slytherin ranks, the Sorting officially ends. Finally, Dumbledore stands up to make his yearly address to the school.

"A very fine welcome to all of you!" he booms. Narcissa rolls her eyes. The man and his over-the-top speeches. Ugh.

"First, a few announcements. Our caretaker, Mr. Pringle, has asked me to remind all students about the penalties regarding the hoarding of contraband items. New to the list this year are Acid Pops and….oh, dear, Cockroach Cluster. How unfortunate. But," he taps his half-moon glasses with a mischievous expression, "I am sure you will all make careful note of these changes."

"Second, our eastern grounds are now home to another rare plant specimen. I am sure Professor Sprout is as thrilled as I am to have a Whomping Willow at the castle, but she and I urge students to exercise great caution near this tree, as it tends to have a nasty temper. I must warn you that the Willow can do a great deal of damage to any unwelcome visitors who stray too close."

"Dromeda," Narcissa breathes, "Aren't the prefects supposed to know about new additions to the grounds? You never said anything."

Andromeda makes a face. "I had no idea. Must have just happened."

The Headmaster's speech, unfortunately, drags on. "I am also pleased to welcome our newest Defense against the Dark Arts professor, Alana Baines! Professor Baines joins us from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I am sure she will be a great addition to the Hogwarts staff."

A polite round of clapping follows this speech, issuing mostly from the High Table and some of the snobbier Prefects. Narcissa, meanwhile, sits with her hands folded in her lap. She won't do anything to acknowledge the woman until they've all got through a full class period. Last year's professor barely deserved the title. Narcissa's not going to praise anyone before knowing what they're about.

Dumbledore makes a quick, sweeping motion with one arm, and the silver plates in front of them positively bloom with food. "Tuck in!"

Narcissa jumps back as Violet, reaching for the lamb chops, nearly stabs her in the hand with a fork. "Watch it!" she scowls.

Suddenly the last thing she wants to do is sit through the feast. She's not even hungry. Just angry about Sirius, and full of lingering anxiety about the year.

Maybe she'll write to Bella. Bella usually knows just what to say about these situations. Plus, she'll have to hear about the Sorting from someone and it might as well be Narcissa. There's also less chance of violence if she tells Bella by post.

"I 'm going to send an owl," Narcissa mutters in Andromeda's direction, and heads for the towers.

* * *

_***This stanza is taken from the Sorting Hat's song in chapter 11 of OOTP.**_


	6. Lines of Communication

**A/N: Thanks for being patient with me! Working six days a week for most of the summer really cuts down on my writing time. :/ Anyway, here's a new chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Although the Owlery is empty when Narcissa initially arrives, several students wander through in the time it takes her to pen a satisfactory letter. Putting the quill down with a huff – _is there no privacy in this place_? – she reads over her work:

_Dear Bella,_

_How are you? Are you staying with Mother and Father? I imagine they must be driving you mad. Then again, perhaps you're not home after all? I never know, really._

Narcissa desperately wants to ask Bella if she has got another boyfriend. She's seen enough boys –at least two – sneak out of the house in recent summer nights to be vaguely informed about her sister's love life. Although she isn't sure of the _nature_ of these relationships, Narcissa is sure something horribly illicit must be going on. Why else would her sister attempt (or pretend to attempt, judging from a few of her less-subtle comments) to keep these things so secret?

_Thought you'd want to know that Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor a few minutes ago. Don't ask me how; I don't even want to explain. I'm sure Walburga is going to have his head as it is. Otherwise, things are fine here._

_You wouldn't happen to know any particularly strong silencing hexes? I may need an arsenal of them this year (Violet's been hanging around.)_

She wonders for several minutes if she should include the earlier encounter with Lucius in her letter – it could amuse Bella – but decides otherwise, and signs her name quickly before she can change her mind.

_Yours,_

_N._

Briskly rolling the parchment into a tight scroll, Narcissa moves to tie it to one of the school birds. She's more than a little surprised to see Sirius standing several yards to her left.

He gives her a small wave. "Lo, cousin,"

"Hello, Sirius." she replies, uncomfortable with seeing him so soon. "Who's the letter for?"

"Reg," he mumbles, tying a scrap of parchment to a large, tawny bird. "Told him I'd write and let him know where I got Sorted. He was really eager to hear."

"I'll bet." Whenthey would visit, years ago, Regulus was always demanding to hear about what was happening that year at Hogwarts. He always hated feeling left out, especially when other people knew or seemed to know something he didn't.

An awkward silence lingers. Narcissa decides to tackle the elephant in the room. "So," she begins, her tone pointed, "Told Reg you'd gone rogue, did you? Got sorted into good old Gryffindor?"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Damn. Knew you'd be angry."

"What were you thinking?" she hisses at him.

"That I'd ruin my family, of course." He smirks widely, knowing the sarcasm irritates her to no end.

Narcissa narrows her eyes. "I'm not kidding."

He purposefully meets her gaze. Narcissa never thought an eleven year old could look so calm. "You want to know?" he asks.

"Yes," she replies, reflecting his stubbornness.

"Simple. I told the Hat, not Slytherin_._"

Stunned, Narcissa stiffens at his words. She voices the only question she can think to ask. "_Why_?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. It seemed right."

"Damn it, Sirius!" she bursts out, frustrated at his nonchalance. "Even Dromeda managed to get sorted correctly and she's got less Slytherin in her than my little finger does! You're supposed to be with us, with your family! Not with – with _them!_"

"_Them_?" he mimics. "They're going to be my friends, Cissy. My housemates, now, and I'm glad to have 'em around."

"Good," she sneers, turning to leave, "because you'll really need them once the rest of _our family_ gets hold of you."

He actually laughs. "Probably," and glances at the letter clutched in the owl's talons. "Tell my dearest cousin I say hello, won't you?"

Narcissa gives a frosty huff as she shoos the bird from its perch. "Go to hell, Sirius."

"Fine, I'll see you there," he replies, walking away, and his mocking words sting her for reasons she can't explain.

Although she returns to the dungeons without incident, Narcissa lies awake in her bunk for most of the night. She listens to the other girls' steady breathing and wonders how on earth their family is going to cope with something like this. The Blacks have always been a unit, a centralized whole. Stepping out of those boundaries has usually spelled disaster for the individual. And suddenly, one of their own has been placed in Gryffindor House.

**

The next morning, during breakfast, Narcissa watches a large black owl drop a scarlet envelope onto Sirius' plate with the morning post. Her cousin glances at the letter in horror before seizing it and attempting to rip it open.

"Ten Galleons says it's from Walburga," Dromeda comments through a small mouthful of toast.

Narcissa shakes her head, scrutinizing the familiar-looking bird. "No, it's from Father, I think. Isn't that his owl?"

"You're both wrong. That letter's from Bellatrix," says a deep voice to her left, and Narcissa's startled to see Lucius Malfoy sitting next to her.

Dromeda scowls, obviously less than pleased with his arrival. "You're on, both of you," she mutters.

Sirius finally succeeds in opening the Howler. At first, it seems as if someone has posted the wrong letter because there's absolutely no sound attached. In the next moment, a high-pitched, earsplitting scream echoes through the Great Hall. It seems to last for hours, as if its author never needed to bother drawing a breath.

Narcissa only knows one person who can, and would, scream that loudly. _I shouldn't have told Bella a thing._ Her sister's scream is irritating enough on its own, but magnified a hundred-fold, the piercing sound scrapes against her eardrums like glass shards. Andromeda, wincing, claps a palm over one ear, still holding toast in her other hand. Lucius, meanwhile, wears a revolted expression. The rest of the student body is gaping at Sirius in complete horror.

Finally, mercifully, the Howler alights in flames. The sound ends, while the ashy remains of the letter smoke quietly at the head of Sirius's plate. Her cousin, now a sort of chalk-white color, throws the one remaining scrap of parchment under the table and grinds it beneath his shoe, cursing all the while.

Silence reigns at the Slytherin table until Lucius holds out his hand, palm up, and addresses Andromeda. "I believe you owe me ten galleons?"

"Based on what?" Andromeda complains, though defeat is clear on her face, "An incoherent scream of rage? It could—it could have been anyone!"

He lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "Though your cousin is hardly welcome in respectable circles—"

"—Watch it," snarls her sister. Narcissa hides a grin behind her hand. It's funny if it's the truth.

Lucius ignores the interruption and continues, folding his arms across his chest, "—I only know one person psychotic enough to send a wordless Howler."

"Psychotic?" asks Narcissa, wrinkling her nose and turning to Lucius. "Really?" Although Bella could be manic, her weird mood swings wouldn't classify as psychotic; not from Narcissa's perspective. "Seems a poor choice of words."

He blinks once. Twice. "Quite right, Narcissa. Psychotic is too kind a word. Perhaps sadistic? Sociopathic?"

Then again, considering their twisted history, the word choice makes sense. Sort of.

"You," Narcissa says, more to her porridge than directly to Lucius, "are deliberately trying to pick a fight."

"And if I am?" he asks silkily, a small smirk forming on his lips. Narcissa stares at him, a little perplexed. Does it mean something if he _is_? Or if he _isn't_? The embarrassment of not knowing is visible in the sudden flush of her cheeks.

Her reverie is interrupted as two silver coins whiz across her line of sight and under the table, ostensibly into Lucius' pockets.

"Take your ten galleons and leave, you git," Dromeda sighs. "The sight of you is making me ill."

"I could say the same," Lucius retorts coldly, standing up to leave. "I see what you're doing," he says archly. "You're pathetically obvious."

Andromeda's eyes flick towards Narcissa for the briefest second. Confusion creases on Narcissa's brow as she tries to decipher the look; she's completely lost.

Andromeda returns her gaze to Lucius, squarely matching his expression. "I could say the same," she mocks, in a rather uncanny imitation. "You're not so subtle, either. Now join your goons and leave us alone, if you please,"

He says a few choice words under his breath as he stands, but his eyes linger on Narcissa for a split second. "See you later," he mutters, walking away.

And in a flash, Narcissa blessedly understands. _He's flirting with me. Challenging me, even. _She considers her sister's earlier, wary expression. _Andromeda disapproves._

Narcissa wants to kick herself for being even more naïve than she previously thought. A person would think she'd grown up in a nunnery. Couldn't recognize flirting when it's right in front of her eyes, how ridiculous!

The only question left unanswered is why on earth Lucius Malfoy would decide to flirt with her in the first place? Narcissa bites her lower lip, pensive. She hasn't the faintest clue. _I thought he still fancied Bella, even after everything that happened?_

A paper airplane suddenly drops onto Andromeda's plate, and Narcissa eyes her sister with interest as she opens what is ostensibly a personal note.

Though she subtly attempts to read its contents over her sister's shoulder, Narcissa is only able to make out the words "...important to tell you…meet me upstairs…" before Dromeda catches her spying and scowls.

"Get away, nosy git! I'm trying to read." She shields her letter from Narcissa's view.

"Sorry," Narcissa mumbles quickly, averting her eyes for a moment. When it seems safe to look back, she cranes her neck ever so slightly, focusing her vision where she left off –Andromeda is quick on the uptake this time, muttering _Myops! _Suddenly, Narcissa's line of sight is narrowed to a pinprick, and her vision blacks whenever she glances too near the letter.

Feeling around the table for her napkin, Narcissa promptly throws it in Andromeda's general direction. She's not upset about the spell; if anything, she surprised it didn't occur outright. Growing up with Bellatrix, one simply got used to being hexed at random. "Come on, humor me. Who's it from?"

Andromeda doesn't reply. After a minute, Narcissa hears a crumpling noise and, as her vision returns to normal, sees her sister stuff the letter (now a ball of paper) into her rucksack.

She tries to lighten the mood through a bit of teasing. "Must have been a terrible read."

Her sister's expression animates, turning rueful as she waves a hand in a dismissive motion. "Oh, it's just one of the Ravenclaws. A disappointing summer tryst, from what I gathered."

"Oh," Narcissa says, still not understanding. "Why couldn't I read it?"

Andromeda shrugs. "She's very private. I didn't want to broadcast her personal life around, even to you." She makes a face. "She's a bit too paranoid about that sort of thing, actually. Gets a bit off-putting after a while."

Narcissa purses her lips. She doesn't really like the fact that Andromeda has close friends in other Houses. Not that she'd do anything about it; she isn't Bellatrix, for Merlin's sake, but it's irritating to know that her sister has friends and secrets that exclude Narcissa from their ranks.

She sighs. If nothing else, at least the Ravenclaws help Andromeda get better academic marks. It could be much worse.

Andromeda points towards a couple of seventh years at the end of the table: "Ooh, look, Sluggy's handing out the schedules already. Come on!" She pushes her chair back from the table and stands up in one quick movement, clearly ready to abandon their conversation.

Narcissa, meanwhile, doesn't overlook the deliberate topic shift. "Wait," she grabs Andromeda's arm. "I've got to run back to the dormitories. I don't have my books; I don't have anything with me."

Andromeda shakes off her sister's grasp. "Narcissa, I've really got to go,"

"Oh," Narcissa growls, irritated. "You're not really going to talk with this Lovelorn Lucy before class, are you?"

Andromeda spreads her hands in a helpless gesture. "Well, I've got thirty minutes, and she seems to need it. You forgive me, right?"

"Fine," Narcissa pouts. "Go comfort your tragically wounded friend."

Andromeda grins widely, Summons her schedule from the large stack in Slughorn's arms (nearly toppling them in the process), and practically races out of the Great Hall.

She's been gone for several minutes before Narcissa realizes that her sister ran in the direction of the classrooms rather than to Ravenclaw.

**


	7. Intrigue

**A/N: Wow. Sorry about the long wait; I've had this on my computer for about two months but wasn't able to go through and make my final edits until this week. That's what working two summer jobs/going back to school in the fall will do to one's writing mojo, I suppose...**

**Anyway, I will try to have another update around mid-October but that's the best I can do for now. I'm trying to finish two huge final writing projects for school and that is going to be my priority for the time being. You have my sincerest apologies. :)**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Intrigue**

If there's one thing Andromeda Black has a talent for, it's lying.

A person shouldn't be proud of this skill, mind, but Andromeda knows it's served its purpose; growing up with someone as wild as Bellatrix forced her to adopt the skill of thinking on her toes. She's lost count of the amount of quick fibs she's had to concoct over the years.

They range from trying to get out of trouble as a child to, more recently, keeping family members out of her personal life ("Now, Mother, if I was interested in anybody, you'd be one of the first to know. Bellatrix would probably be _the_ first, since she'd curse it out of me…")

Today, Andromeda feels guilty; she doesn't like fibbing to her younger sister. It feels like she's taking advantage of a type of secret sibling insight. At any rate, Andromeda figures that meeting Ted Tonks in secret on the first day of classes is something Narcissa does not actually need to know about. She'd only tell Bella, and that kind of hell isn't worth enduring. Not for one silly meeting, at least.

Andromeda's come to realize she shares little with the Blacks, at present; they have few common goals, and no common values. Although the former isn't really known to other family members, her reticence to accept the party line has Mother convinced her daughter will be booted from all respectable circles within a year or two.

As she makes her way towards the Transfiguration classroom, Andromeda muses on this last idea. If she's thrown out of the family for bad behavior, perhaps she won't have to marry some half-defective Pureblood in order to stay relevant. She's fairly sure spinsterhood wouldn't be so awful if she never had to hear her mother rage about the importance of producing heirs.

A sudden voice jolts her out of her daydreams.

"Sickle for your thoughts." Ted, leaning against the doorjamb of the Transfiguration classroom, grins at her with a mischievous expression.

She rolls her eyes. _Who does he think he is? _"Oh, you think you're so clever, sending me that note," she mutters.

"Oy! That _was_ clever." Ted doesn't hide his obvious satisfaction. "Sending a note to the middle of the Slytherin table without anyone reading it? Decent trick, that." He toys with a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve. "Nice spell work, by the way."

"Thanks." She motions him out of the doorway. He shifts over, leaving just enough space for her to slide into the classroom.

"Look," Ted's voice becomes more serious, "some weird things happened on patrol last night. That's why I wanted to meet—"

"—Bloody hell," Andromeda groans, putting her hands to her face in an exaggerated motion, "Don't tell me we're starting double patrols already. If Bill tries to stick me with last shift again, he's got nargles for brains. I'm tired of pulling third-years out of suits of armor!"

Ted chuckles, the gravity dissipating for a moment. "That was you? Damned impressive."

"Come on, tell me quickly," she insists, watching as a couple of nervous first-years gather opposite the open doorway. "That what this is about?"

"No," he waves the question away. "No double patrols, at least not yet."

"So, why the secrecy?" she asks, curiosity tingeing her voice.

He hesitates for a brief second before glancing out into the hall. With the first-years in his sights, he swiftly pushes the door closed. "You worked second shift last night, yeah?"

"Yes," Andromeda says, not fully understanding. "Why?"

"Did you," he pauses, looking for the right words, "happen to see the Headmaster at any point?"

"Dumbledore?" She thinks carefully. "Yeah, around midnight. Next to Slughorn's private quarters, or at least near the area."

He exhales, seeming relieved. "Did he…say anything to you? Anything at all?"

She studies Ted's expression for clues. "He told you something strange?" she asks.

Ted frowns, running a hand through his hair. "Er, sort of. It, ah, sounds ridiculous on the surface."

Andromeda snorts. "Can't be, if you're this bothered."

He flashes her a sympathetic look. "I was walking down by Ravenclaw around one, maybe fifteen after. I hear a couple of raised voices. I figure it's kids, either lost or ambling around. But I follow the noise and find Dumbledore fighting with old Sluggy."

"Fighting? What about?" Andromeda frowns, ready to unleash a barrage of questions.

"Dunno," Ted holds up a hand. "But it gets better. They're arguing, and all of a sudden Slughorn shouts something like, 'Look, Albus, go to the riddle if you want to know the damn truth. Go to Knockturn Alley. I don't know anything about it.' And Dumbledore gets this look on his face – I've never seen him so angry – but he says to Slughorn, calm as you please, 'Horace, I suggest you _tell_ the truth when we next meet. This pretense gets us nowhere.'

"What'd you do?" she breathes, her eyes searching Ted's face.

He winces. "Froze like a stag in the winter. I didn't know what to do. I was just….lurking 'round in the shadows."

She raises her eyebrows in a flippant expression. "Fine, you froze. What next?"

Ted makes a dismissive noise. "Ah, you know Slughorn. Gets into a snit, he's furious, leaves. So Dumbledore's left. He looks round, stops when his gaze gets near me, clearly knows he's not alone. Maybe had me pinned the whole time.

"So I come out, trying not to look too guilty, and he says" — here, Ted steeples his fingers and looks down his nose in a very Dumbledore-esque pose. Andromeda would find it funny were the situation not so strange. — "'Ah, Mr. Tonks. Did you find what you were looking for?'

"I tell him, 'Hope I didn't interrupt, just on patrol, sir.' But I'm curious now, see, and I can't help but ask what Slughorn meant about that riddle, if it might mean trouble."

"You asked the Headmaster for details on a private fight?" Andromeda gapes at him, impressed despite herself. "Braver than I thought, Tonks."

He waves his hand as if unconcerned, but the grin on his face cancels any attempt at humility. "More stupid, me. But here's the odd thing. Dumbledore _answers_. Says, 'Mr. Tonks, did you listen closely to the Sorting Hat's song?'

I say, yeah, of course. Not exactly subtle, that warning." He looks at Andromeda, as if for confirmation, and she nods her head. "I heard it, too."

"Right," Ted affirms. "Then, Dumbledore gets very calm, very thoughtful – obviously knows something I don't – making me dead uneasy. So, I ask him, sort of quiet-like, 'Sir, this riddle – that's the trouble it meant?'"

He meets my look dead-on, pitches his voice sort of low and says 'Very much so.' And not ten seconds later, he gets all….twinkly and cheerful again, telling me he'll cover the rest of my patrol and that I should get some sleep."

Andromeda lets the information soak in for a moment. She hears the first-years in the hall, chattering excitedly, their voices rising in volume and pitch.

"Why come to me with this?"

"Sorry?" It's the first time Ted's shown anything less than cool confidence.

She's tired of being indirect. "Come on. We've had a total of what, three or four real conversations? Most of them revolving around prefect duties? It's…well, surely Bill, or even Evelyn should be hearing this story, they're Head Boy and Girl, and close friends of yours. Why ask me?"

Ted pauses, his face inscrutable. "To be honest, I don't _really_ know. I just….ah…you were the first person I thought about. I knew you wouldn't take the mickey, like a few of the blokes, and I figured maybe, since you're Slytherin…" His voice trails off.

She sighs, a little angrily. _It always comes back to House stereotypes._ "You thought I might know something you didn't. About Slughorn?"

"No, that isn't—"

"—Oh, don't deny it," she brushes his words aside with impatience. "I assume you also thought I'd cunningly be able to decode all of this?"

"Oh, come on, Andy. That's not what I meant. You're an intelligent girl. I wanted your opinion."

She pulls an affronted face. "_Andy_?"

He laughs aloud. "No good? Well, thought I'd give it a try, eh?"

She shakes her head in flustered amusement. "Nobody calls me _Andy_. It's strange to hear."

Ted shrugs. "No one calls me Theodore, either; hadn't you noticed? Figured I'd make things a little less formal."

Andromeda can't help laughing. "Formality is the key issue in this conversation."

He rolls his eyes. "Hilarious, you are."

Andromeda's quiet for a few moments before speaking again. "You really want my opinion?"

He nods.

"Honestly," she continues, "I don't know what to say. You didn't overhear specifics, save for the bit about some riddle, which you know nothing about, and a mention of Knockturn Alley."

He grimaces. "You're telling me it's a long shot."

"Doesn't have to be," she says, choosing her words carefully. For some reason, she doesn't want to dash his hopes entirely. "You just need to fill in a few details. Obviously this riddle's got to do with the school, with certain students, maybe; otherwise Slughorn wouldn't be involved. And Dumbledore wouldn't have mentioned the Hat. Maybe it's about Potions? Or Slughorn's ridiculous club?"

She tries to think of other links. "Off the top of my head, if it's a Slytherin issue—" framing the name in quotation marks "—ninety percent of the time, those have got to do with blood."

Ted looks disgusted. "You mean, like killing?"

"No! Ugh, you're as bad as the rest." She fixes him with a piercing glare. "Blood as in lineage, ancestral lines."

"Like your family." he surmises quietly.

She laughs, humorlessly. "Let's not talk about that."

"Talk about anything you like," Ted replies, spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Consider it an 'I owe you'."

Before Andromeda can respond, the door swings open, and Professor McGonagall, accompanied by the owlish-looking firsties, breezes into the classroom. She looks the prefects up and down, raising an eyebrow in an imperious manner.

"Miss Black, Mr. Tonks. Is there a reason you're hiding in my classroom?"

"No, Professor," Andromeda says quickly. "Just discussing prefect duties."

"Of course," McGonagall responds, clearly skeptical, "and I am sure you must have exhausted the subject by now. If you'll kindly step outside, I need to meet with these students before class."

"Yes, ma'am," Ted replies, giving the professor a quick, sharp salute. "We were just leaving." He grabs Andromeda by the hand and pulls her outside before she has time to react.

"Andy," he says, releasing her hand as they reach the hallway. "Thanks for hearing me out."

Still a little flustered, she shakes her head in a faux-exasperated manner. "Next time, an advance warning would be nice!"

He flashes a crooked grin in reply: "What, my memo didn't count? You're mental!" and disappears at a run down the hallway.

Andromeda's so amused by his antics that she isn't even bothered when Narcissa, books in hand, arrives with a few other Slytherins and begins complaining about the upcoming woes of Defense Against the Dark Arts. She does, however, take a minute to reflect on the previous conversation. According to Dumbledore, trouble is brewing, but where? And why?

She suppresses a shiver. If it troubles Dumbledore, Andromeda doesn't want to imagine how much worry the situation might cause her or her classmates. She can't fathom the person who would want to stir up something so sinister.

_A riddle…._

She resolves to do a bit of research after classes.


End file.
